Agatha Christie: Why Didn't They Ask Evans

'Well,' he said. 'We seem to have got at all she knows.' 'Yes,' said Frankie. 'And it hangs together. There seems no doubt that Savage did make that will, and I suppose his fear of cancer was genuine enough. They couldn't very well bribe a Harley Street doctor. I suppose they just took advantage of his having made that will to do away with him quickly before he changed his mind. But how we or anyone else can prove they did make away with him I can't see.' 'I know. We may suspect that Mrs T gave him "something to make him sleep", but we can't prove it. Bassingtonffrench may have forged the letter to the coroner, but that again we can't prove by now. I expect the letter is destroyed long ago after being put in as evidence at the inquest.' 'So we come back to the old problem - what on earth are Bassington-ffrench and Co. so afraid of our discovering?' 'Nothing strikes you as odd particularly?' 'No, I don't think so - at least only one thing. Why did Mrs Templeton send out for the gardener to come and witness the will when the house-parlourmaid was in the house. Why didn't they ask the parlourmaid?' 'It's odd your saying that, Frankie,' said Bobby.

His voice sounded so queer that Frankie looked at him in surprise.

'Why?' 'Because I stayed behind to ask Mrs Pratt for Gladys's name and address.' 'Well?' 'The parlourmaid's name was Evans!'

Frankie gasped.

Bobby's voice rose excitedly.

'You see, you've asked the same question that Carstairs asked. Why didn't they ask the parlourmaid? Why didn't they ask Evans?' 'Ohi Bobby, we're getting there at last'' 'The same thing must have struck Carstairs. He was nosing round, just as we were, looking for something fishy - and this point struck him just as it struck us. And, moreover, I believe he came to Wales for that reason. Gladys Evans is a Welsh name - Evans was probably a Welsh girl. He was following her to Marchbolt. And someone was following him - and so, he never got to her.' 'Why didn't they ask Evans?' said Frankie. 'There must be a reason. It's such a silly little point - and yet it's important. With a couple of maids in the house, why send out for a gardener?' 'Perhaps because both Chudleigh and Albert Mere were chumps, whereas Evans was rather a sharp girl.' 'It can't be only that. Mr Elford was there and he's quite shrewd. Oh! Bobby, the whole situation is there - I know it is.

If we could just get at the reason. Evans. Why Chudleigh and Mere and not Evans?' Suddenly she stopped and put both hands over her eyes.

'It's coming,' she said. 'Just a sort of flicker. It'll come in a minute.' She stayed dead still for a minute or two, then removed her hands and looked at her companion with an odd flicker in her eyes.

'Bobby,' she said, 'if you're staying in a house with two servants which do you tip?' 'The house-parlourmaid, of course,' said Bobby, surprised.

'One never tips a cook. One never sees her, for one thing.' 'No, and she never sees you. At least she might catch a glimpse of you if you were there some rime. But a houseparlourmaid waits on you at dinner and calls you and hands you coffee.' 'What are you getting at, Frankie?' 'They couldn't have Evans witnessing that will - because Evans would have known that it wasn't Mr Savage who was making it' 'Good Lord, Frankie, what do you mean? Who was it then?' 'Bassington-ffrench, of course! Don't you see, he impersonated Savage? I bet it was Bassington-ffrench who went to that doctor and made all that fuss about having cancer. Then the lawyer is sent for - a stranger who doesn't know Mr Savage but who will be able to swear that he saw Mr Savage sign that will and it's witnessed by two people, one of whom hadn't seen him before and the other an old man who was probably pretty blind and who probably had never seen Savage either. Now do you see?' 'But where was the real Savage all that time?' 'Oh! he arrived all right and then I suspect they drugged him and put him in the attic, perhaps, and kept him there for twelve hours while Bassington-ffrench did his impersonation stunt.

Then he was put back in his bed and given chloral and Evans finds him dead in the morning.' 'My God, I believe you've hit it, Frankie. But can we prove it?' 'Yes - no - I don't know. Supposing Rose Chudleigh - Pratt, I mean - was shown a photograph of the real Savage? Would she be able to say, "that wasn't the man who signed the will"?' 'I doubt it,' said Bobby. 'She is such a nitwit.' 'Chosen for that purpose, I expect. But there's another thing. An expert ought to be able to detect that the signature is a forgery.' 'They didn't before.' 'Because nobody ever raised the question. There didn't seem any possible moment when the will could have been forged. But now it's different.' 'One thing we must do,' said Bobby. 'Find Evans. She may be able to tell us a lot. She was with the Templetons for six months, remember,' Frankie groaned.

'That's going to make it even more difficult.' 'How about the post office?' suggested Bobby.

They were just passing it. In appearance it was more of a general store than a post office.

Frankie darted inside and opened the campaign. There was no one else in the shop except the postmistress - a young woman with an inquisitive nose.

Frankie bought a two-shilling book of stamps, commented on the weather and then said: 'But I expect you always have better weather here than we do in my part of the world. I live in Wales - Marchbolt. You wouldn't believe the rain we have.' The young woman with the nose said that they had a good deal of rain themselves and last Bank Holiday it had rained something cruel.

Frankie said: 'There's someone in Marchbolt who comes from this part of the world. I wonder if you know her. Her name was Evans - Gladys Evans.' The young woman was quite unsuspicious.

'Why, of course,' she said. She was in service here. At Tudor Cottage. But she didn't come from these parts. She came from Wales and she went back there and married - Roberts her name is now.' 'That's right,' said Frankie. 'You can't give me her address, I suppose? I borrowed a raincoat from her and forgot to give it back. If I had her address I'd post it to her.' 'Well now,' the other replied, 'I believe I can. I get a p.c. from her now and again. She and her husband have gone into service together. Wait a minute now.' She went away and rummaged in a corner. Presently she returned with a piece of paper in her hand.

'Here you are,' she said, pushing it across the counter.

Bobby and Frankie read it together. It was the last thing in the world they expected.

'Mrs Roberts, The Vicarage, Marchbolt, Wales.'

How Bobby and Frankie got out of the post office without disgracing themselves neither of them ever knew.

Outside, with one accord, they looked at each other and shook with laugher.

'At the Vicarage - all the time!' gasped Bobby.

'And I looked through four hundred and eighty Evans,' lamented Frankie.

'Now I see why Bassington-ffrench was so amused when he realized we didn't know in the least who Evans was!' 'And of course it was dangerous from their point of view.

You and Evans were actually under the same roof.' 'Come on,' said Bobby. 'Marchbolt's the next place.' 'Like where the rainbow ends,' said Frankie. 'Back to the dear old home.' 'Dash it all,' said Bobby, 'we must do something about Badger. Have you any money, Frankie?' Frankie opened her bag and took out a handful of notes.

'Give these to him and tell him to make some arrangement with his creditors and that Father will buy the garage and put him in as manager.' 'All right,' said Bobby. 'The great thing is to get off quickly.' 'Why this frightful haste?' 'I don't know - but I've a feeling something might happen.' 'How awful. Let's go ever so quickly.' 'I'll settle Badger. You go and start the car.' 'I shall never buy that toothbrush,' said Frankie.